


stars, hide your fires

by likethemoon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Punk Harry, Punk Liam, Punk Louis, Punk Niall, Punk Zayn, Road Trips, So I don't know if the violence is considered minor or major but I don't think it's that much, also hum zayn/liam is very minor, and it's not between the boys (no one hits one another if you are worried about that!!), and not by the boys, but you know better safe than sorry, it's just a hint but, the homophobic slurs are also minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethemoon/pseuds/likethemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. louis and zayn are going to uni, leaving their band behind. harry proposes a road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stars, hide your fires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samandriel (jongleur)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jongleur/gifts).



> so this is my gift for hazzalouis! i just wanted to say that your prompts were very very nice but this one was the one that really sparked my soul writer awake. punk! direction is a bit of a weakness of mine, and i tried to do it justice, even though it may have come out more subtle than i intended. positive check for the road trip, and i used their natural age difference, so nothing big, i think. also i really, really tried to do the angst and drama thing that you asked but i think it came out more fluffy than it was meant to? i'm sorry i'm terrible at this :(( i listened to something i need like you said over and over, and the original storyline was very much like the song, but this story really gained a life of it's own. i really hope you like this, because i really wanted to please you =)
> 
> now my thanks to infinitelymint, whom beta-ed (?) the first part of this fic. you were lovely and corrected/pointed out so many things - thank you! thank you also maya from pastelhalo (on tumblr, also one of the people who organized this exchange!) for taking the second part out of the goodness of their heart and helping me also. you did it in the worst time possible for you and i appreciate it so much. if there's any mistakes or wrong things in this text, it's purely because of my dyslexia and dumbness, nothing to do with those two lovely people. thank you so much for being so patient and correcting my mistakes over and over and just being so nice. 
> 
> also, i wanted to be really clear when i say that i am really, really aware that in no way in hell that a road trip in england would take this long, but it's fiction and i did what i had to do to keep things interesting?? i didn't want to make them american for obvious reasons, so take a very unrealistic geography fic.
> 
> last but not least - the title comes from shakespeare's macbeth. it's not meant to have the original meaning as it has in the play, obviously.
> 
> anyways, i don't even know if anyone will read this, but if you do, i hope you like it. ♡

"The saddest word

in the whole wide world

is the word almost."

_nikita gill_ , tiny stories

 

♦ ♦ ♦

the sound of niall's bass is killing louis’ brain.

not only that, but also the road they’re on; the up and downs, the twists and turns. the wind, knocking on the glass of the van's windows, a constant reminder of what they are running from and what they are running towards. it's a pattern that's only strengthened by the brown and gold fields outside, endless honey spilling from the sun all over them, creating blurred patterns of hazy white and dark yellow, glitters of light over skin.

it's a beautiful sight, but not for long.

pressing against his ribcage is a constant reminder: it's their last week with each other, their last days of them as five together. the feeling of abandonment presses down on him, the fear of being forgotten. it's bonkers, of course. he and zayn are the ones leaving.

when they formed raised by wolves, louis was sixteen, zayn fifteen and all the other boys fourteen. it wasn't supposed to be anything serious. aside from liam and harry, who were classmates, none of them knew each other before their detention. but then niall - the transfer student who knew nothing about rules - brought a fucking guitar to their afternoon detention, and music talk ensued from there until everything grew into so much more.

oh, if only louis had known that when he decided to curse at his geography teacher, he would be redirected to his fate.

it all grew into so much more, and soon the five of them were talking outside of those afternoons, meeting at each other's houses, playing music together. liam and harry could sing, niall played guitar, zayn was a drum freak and louis was... well, he was a bit of everything together, really. he could play the keyboard, and he wrote songs, and when he was feeling brave enough, he sang, harmonizing with the others. they were good; they were really good, even though they were young, and two years later, the group was already playing small gigs and things were getting serious.

their families varied from supportive to disbelieving when they decided that it was what they wanted to do. louis was eighteen, but he had to redo a part of secondary, so they had another year to try and make it before he and zayn went to university. neither of their parents approved of them taking gap years if nothing was really confirmed with their musical careers; they had to study to open opportunities if they wanted real, stable jobs - they didn't have time to waste.

and then everything became a mess.

they tried, they really did. they wrote an ep, sent their demos to dozens and dozens of record companies, went as far as posting videos of themselves online, their dark fleeting signature sound on liam's house garage. they became a team, a union, harry's voice deeper then ever, niall learning bass and liam learning guitar, louis getting better and better at singing. but all they got was rejection and then their time was up, their time was over. they had to go.

it was harry who got the idea for the road trip; seven days to drive zayn and louis to london, their last seven days together. it wasn't said out loud because they were still only boys and scared, but they knew nothing would be the same again - there wouldn't be any messing around the school's music room, there wouldn't be any going to underground shows with fake id's, there wouldn't be any sneaking their parents’ alcohol out in backpacks. and, most of all, there wouldn't be any more harry and louis.

scraping the thought away, burying harry away, suppressing him in the back of his mind as quickly as possible, louis closes his eyes, letting the sound of niall's high bass and liam's lyrics (faster, faster, we're going down on this empty road) lull him to sleep.

there wasn't any harry and louis anyway.

♦ ♦ ♦

he wakes up with a loud voice in his ears.

"louis, lou. wake up." harry is above him, eyeliner on his eyes and piercings in his eyebrows. still high from sleep, louis nuzzles closer to him, head fitting in the crook of his neck, and mumbles a noncommittal reply.

that earns a laugh from harry, who tickles louis’ sides, fingers brushing the skin that's exposed by the rips on his old ramones shirt. louis shudders, and opening his eyes, gets himself closer to harry.

"liam stopped here because it seemed like a nice place - the boys went to get some drinks inside, and i said i would wake you up. let's go get some beers, yeah?"

"yeah." his voice is still raspy from sleep, but he gets up anyway.

outside, he can't really see much from the city they are in, except that there aren't many tall buildings around and that the illumination is absolutely shit - but to his surprise, the club turns out to be kind of crowded, even though it's only eight at night. the smell of sweat and dirt hits his nostrils when he walks inside, but that only serves to wake him up more. he's in his element, he thinks; alcohol and too many people and harry at his side - everything he’ll ever really need.

they manage to find zayn at the bar, downing some water with an unpleasent expression because he's one of the drivers for the night. the bartender - a woman in her middle thirties, red lips and pale skin - eyes harry down, an unspoken message sent when she hands him a drink on the house. immediately, louis’ eyes snap up, and his hands come to rest casually on the small of harry's back. he wants to say mine, his body language screams mine, but it's not really true, is it? harry seems to be enjoying the attention, though, so louis backs away slowly, feeling zayn's eyes on him the entire time.

they sit together in silence; they seem to be the only ones capable of that, zayn and him. lately, there aren't many words being exchanged between them, the weight of their responsibilities and mistakes pressing them out of themselves, like origami being unfolded. our souls are black, louis thinks, and we seem to bleed sadness blue instead of the brightest red.

his fingers reach for his pocket, looking for a pen to scribble that down for a song, when he realises it's worthless.

"guys!" niall comes panting from the middle of the crowd, purple hair flickering cyan, magenta, blue with the club lights, liam's body behind him. "the manager allowed us to play! we get to do a few songs up there."

with that, harry's head snaps up, eyes lightning up with the prospect of singing. zayn gets up from his seat as well, and louis follows them, electricity buzzing in his veins. there isn't any question if they want it or not, because they are grabbing every chance they can now that they aren't immortal anymore. so his head buzzes with the excitment, again and again. they're playing. they're playing.

when they get up on the little stage, however, it’s a bit awkward because the music stops and they can hear a collective groan from a group of people on the dance floor. but then they settle in with the instruments that are already there. harry starts talking, deep voice lulling everyone in, and the high starting to kick in, their blood pumping - and they’re performing.

they fucking smash it.

it starts with an acoustic cover of i wanna be where the boys are from the runways, and then they risk playing one of their originals, fucking on the backseat of your car. it's a sex song - bodies moving in the dark, right there in the middle of the park. it does the job; people are getting into a frenzy, that state of mind where brain and body align, thoughts translating into actions directly, bodies moving into each other on the dance floor instinctively.

harry's knuckles are hazy-white from gripping the microphone firmly, and he stares directly at louis. he also sings directly to louis, tongue curving around each sound, mouthing words sultry and slow. they play this game on stage; it's where everything can be electric between them, where louis feels alive and brave, harry's hands pressing against his neck, every touch unraveling them both. it doesn't mean anything, it fucking doesn't, but sometimes when harry is beside him and they are playing together and everything is loud and dirty, louis closes his eyes and pretends.

louis has been pretending an awful lot lately.

the chorus on the third song hits - you heartbeat is begging for me, but i'm settled somewhere else - and harry's voice is like that of a siren; drawing everyone in, the entire crowd already moving with him. he is seventeen and already a fucking star, wrapping a crowd of almost seventy people around his fingers in minutes, and louis just knows that out of the five of them, harry is the only one that has real chances of achieving a career in music after this.

by the fifth song, people are going crazy, they are, and it's honestly one of their top five gigs of all time. louis has to remember to give niall a blowjob or something - well, maybe not a blowjob, just a playful shove in his shoulders - to thank him somehow, because it's amazing to be in the middle of nowhere where no one knows you but still everybody feels you all over.

they finish off the set with one of the songs louis had written for the ep, pretty strangers. it's one of his that he is the most proud of; it's messy and sloppy and fun, about two people who meet and connect but something is keeping them apart. by the end, you realize that one of them is engaged to another person, and the other is a serial killer. (and we stopped pretending we weren't meant to be, you blew off your ring and i bruised your skin.)

they jump off the stage to the sound of loud cheering, and it feels a lot like lightning in his veins.

♦ ♦ ♦

harry is drunk.

harry is drunk and maybe louis is too, both of them blurring around each other, limbs intertwined and eyeliner smudged at the corners of their eyes. their little show has been over for hours now, and in the back of his mind, louis knows they should already be returning to the van, because liam - in his sober, responsible voice - had clearly said midnight. but louis is dancing with harry and it's just too much.

"i’m already missing you," harry whispers up close, and his breath is all cheap alcohol and cider.

"didn't seem like it, when you were talking to that bartender," louis shoots back, and he knows that he sounds petty, he knows, but he is so out of himself and so, so drunk, loose limbs and an even looser mouth.

"i’m missing you. i would never miss her." it's not a declaration of love, more of a drunk rambling, really, but it feels like so much more than what it is, so louis shifts closer, heart pounding with the music, blood pounding in his ears.

their bodies shift around each other, dancing awkwardly, white heat exploding under their skin. louis’ legs are pressed under harry's and harry's hands are on louis’ waist, and if louis leaned forward a little bit more, he could lick the sweat off of harry’s collarbones. so he does, daring, and suddenly the air around them is silent, and harry looks down at louis, his eyelashes casting shadows like spider-webs across his cheeks and oh--

louis tenses, because harry's nose is nuzzling at where louis’ neck meets his jaw, and they've done this hundreds of times, but somehow the air feels hotter now, almost burning. and then they are looking at each other and louis can feel it, he can feel the moment unraveling right before it happens, but then -

"i told you two to go to the fucking van!" liam pulls them both by their wrists and hands and he is fuming and harry looks at him and laughs, he fucking laughs, and louis feels warmness spreading through his chest. "we've been waiting for you two for almost an hour, what are you -"

they get out of the bar and cold air hits them like shards of glass, a stark contrast to the humid heat inside. but by his side, there is harry.

"you know what? just forget it. it's not like we are behind the schedule or anything." liam throws his hands up and goes to the driver's seat, opening up the doors for them. niall and zayn are already sleeping, both of them pressed up against opposite windows. harry looks behind himself at louis, body half turned and hand gripping his waist with a careful gentleness, and they both climb into the last seats, bodies glued together like magnets.

there's this faint purple light coloring their bodies, the sign of the club and the street lamps painting them into a blurred mess of two, and then there is harry, all around louis; his hands, and bony elbows, and adam's apple and warmness. they are both buzzing under their skin, and louis has no clue how he's still holding up. he has a lot of alcohol in his veins, but the thing that makes him the most drunk is harry. the thing that grounds him is also harry. he can't think straight.

that night, fitting together like puzzle pieces, they fall asleep with the rhythm of their heartbeats matching.

♦ ♦ ♦

the next morning, he wakes up to deep silence.

the van comes to a halt, and then zayn is outside - sometime during the night, he and liam had switched. even though he can make out zayn, louis can't open his eyes fully yet, can't really make out the surroundings or where they are, but it's hot and bright, stuffy all around. he tries to untangle himself from the mess he is in; limbs kilometres long, harry's legs over his lap, nose tucked into his collarbones.

climbing out, he can still feel warmth coating the places where he and harry have touched while sleeping together, but now, in the daylight, the sweat that clings to his skin and clothes feel very restraining. zayn is stretching his arms out, yawning loudly, and louis notices that they are in front of a weird combination of diner and gas station, possibly right next to a small town.

zayn rests his body on the hood of the van, long fingers lingering on the packet in the pocket of his leather jacket for a moment, until he lights a cigarette. smoke fills the air with a blurry kind of gray, a beautiful kind of burnt gray, and everything around louis is pale and pastel and sort of dazzling, airy and hazy, fading. they stay like that for what seems like an eternity - everything around them seems like an eternity - but it’s no more then a couple of minutes, just enough for zayn to finish smoking and louis to fully wake up.

"looooou." harry's voice is raspy and paints the air with yellow-gray colors, his body stumbling out of the car with the grace of a baby deer. louis smiles, despite his slight headache, and turns to welcome him into his arms.

"right here, love," louis answers, observing harry reaching for him, grabby hands reaching to hold the tip of his shirt, body curling into louis' side.

"morning, harry," zayn says, voice dry, eyes knowing.

"oh. morning," he says, like he’s surprised, like he hasn't noticed zayn with all of louis’ light around him, and maybe he hasn't. the thought makes louis quirk the corners of his lips upwards.

"we getting breakfast?"

"that's the plan, caveman," louis replies, messing up harry's shaggy hair. "are the other boys showing any signs of waking up?"

"no, i don't think so. niall's snoring really loudly, and liam is mumbling something about spoons. they seem to be sleeping deeply."

"let's just - let's just go us three, then, and we can bring them food after, or just wait until they eat if they get up early enough."

"but we're just gonna leave them here?"

"the van is parked in the shade and the doors are unlocked. also, i am fucking starving," zayn mumbles and signals for them to follow, letting his gaze glide over the faded brown walls. as they enter the diner, their eyes adjust to the loss of brightness, lights dim in comparison to the sun outside. the place is horrible, all covered in this old wallpaper of flowers with seat cushions made of scratchy plastic, but it's open, and it smells like grease and the promise of a fairly decent and cheap breakfast.

they eat in silence in a booth, harry and louis sitting together, zayn opposite them. he keeps eyeing them in that knowing way he has when he knows something and wants you to talk about it - adding a cryptic piece of wisdom if he wants, probably. harry doesn't notice, and louis does his best not to let zayn in; he has his suspicions about what he has to say, and louis doesn't really want to hear it.

"going to the loo!" harry says, getting up, greasy fingers brushing louis' side. "you two ok with buying their stuff? i can help carry it back."

"yeah, yeah. just go," louis replies, smiling subtly at the ground.

harry stumbles over his feet - such a bambi, louis thinks, and then remembers that he's supposed to be a punk and punks don't watch heartbreaking disney movies - and then there is zayn.

"louis."

"what. what?"

"you know what."

louis head shoots up, and he realises zayn is angry - zayn is angry with him. it's such a confusing thing to take in, because usually zayn is pissed, but he is pissed off at the world. they are all pissed at the world, but never with each other.

"i really don't know what the fuck you are thinking about, since you have the habit of not voicing what your concerns are, but i'd rather that you fuck off, because -"

"listen to me then, tommo." zayn lowers his voice, looking at him with a sombre expression, eyebrows lowered and eyes squinting. "we are going away. we are leaving them behind. you have no right, you have no right to continue to lead him on. me and the boys, we have no fucking clue about whatever is going on between you and harry, and it's none of our business if you don't want to talk about it, but -" he takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fingers. "i thought you had acquired some sense, because you two... because he is seventeen and still has a year of school, and you are going to university and there'll be hundreds of kilometres between you."

"me and harry, we don't -" he replies with a frustrated groan, and sees that zayn's jaw tenses. "there's nothing going on between us. there is nothing, absolutely nothing -" his voice is bitter, and he looks away from zayn, avoiding his eyes because it just hurts. "and that isn't the point. that really isn't the point. i thought distancing myself from him would be ok, i really thought distancing myself from all of them would be ok, but i think you know by now that it's impossible, because even though we are going to be far away, it doesn't mean we are going to stop being friends."

"this trip... we are doing this for them, not for us," zayn replies, and louis knows. oh, he knows, but he can't be as altruistic as zayn, he can't. "just think about it, yeah? soften the blow, lou. next friday, we’ll be arriving at our dorms, and they won't be with us the next day. they won't be next to us the following week, month or even year."

louis swallows. he has never seen zayn this angry, and he supposes he shouldn't be expecting this sort of outburst from him; but they know each other like the palm of their hands, and now louis knows this frustration zayn has has more to do with the situation than with him, so louis ignores any kind of remarks he could toss back and manages to make an ok expression. for the boys. for zayn.

when harry returns, they haven't gotten up from the booth yet, let alone ordered the other boys any food. he teases them mercilessly for their laziness, and even though through it all, louis could have made any playful reply, he shuts his mouth instead.

♦ ♦ ♦

the thing is, he doesn't mean to, but he takes zayn’s advice to heart.

it's exactly what he has been thinking all this time, but never really had the courage to follow, and now that it has been voiced, he realises that he has been dumbly, stupidly hopeful. hoping that everything will remain the same between them, even though he knows it isn't possible. he knows harry will grow out of him eventually, niall will make other friends with the same ease as breathing, and liam will realise that he is cut out for better things.

so when he drives, he drives carefully and slowly to last, but. but he turns the radio on at the worst possible station, the one where the latest bubblegum pop hit is playing, annoying all of the boys, annoying himself. when harry puts in his mixed cd with the ramones, the clash and the runways, louis doesn't sing along with him, doesn't share looks with him. it hurts a little, and he knows harry has noticed that louis is withdrawing himself again.

they stop for a break of a few hours in a small city, just aiming for a quick brief lunch and a pause to use the loo. they are ahead of the schedule, though, and the streets are beautiful and the houses are beautiful, so they decide to walk around to get to know the place.

"is that a flea market?" harry's voice interrupts a discussion niall and zayn are having, something about liam's last tattoo. louis is oddly silent, walking behind them with his earphones blasting, the silver of his brow piercing shining under the fading midday sun.

it's an eerie village, for sure; if they had closed their eyes on the way, half of them would surely say that they had somehow found germany, with all the wood houses and pretty colors, white mixed with faint pink and cinnamon brown. it's warm, too; the wind cuts them like hot shards of glass, the summer weather sticky humid.

"it seems so?" zayn replies warily, already sensing what's coming their way, because harry - harry likes old stuff, harry loves old stuff, and he is already pulling out the puppy eyes.

"no harry. no, no, no," liam says, voice bleeding tiredness, because they don't have the time.

"maybe they have that vinyl lou has been looking for for ages - or the old looking mirror i've been wanting to give to gemma." he looks at louis for emphasis and approval, because in the end, liam is the planner, but louis is the guy who approves everything; he is both the kid and the big brother, so if he says they can do something, well. they can. harry knows that, and he also knows that there's very little louis denies him, so.

niall's face assumes a neutral expression while zayn is facepalming himself hard. liam exhales.

"just... just a couple of minutes won't kill us, right?" and it's settled, just because.

harry looks at him with hearts in his eyes, smiling wide, and even though he is wearing a dark leather jacket with spikes, no one has ever looked more like sunshine to louis.

harry grabs him by his wrist and louis sends a mortified look to zayn, who shoots his eyebrows up while mouthing a couple of words louis can't make out. while harry pulls him along, louis looks at the boys again - liam seems to be happy while whispering something to zayn, who now looks pained, and niall, in the strangest fashion of them all - niall seems sad.

but he can't make out what it is, can't really make out what is happening with the boys, because there are harry's hands and warmness and energy pulling him towards the street, so, as always, he runs with him.

♦ ♦ ♦

walking through the street fair feels a little bit like looking at a ghost.

there are violet and warm colours in the air, streets lined with old gray stones, everything smudged with earth. amber and bronze paint the homemade stands, a mess of paperboards and steel, and with the coming and going of people, dust swirls in the air, colouring the oxygen gold. it's a breathtaking sight, and it's even more beautiful with everything that's being sold around them, the caramel-honey apples and old clothes, embroidered lace cloths and second-hand guitars.

even though he is dressed all in black, tattoos poking out from under his clothes, harry seems at home in this place.

harry smiles and mumbles and giggles all around, seeming interested in everything from old-looking cameras that probably don't work to real, scruffy vintage rings. he mutters under his breath calculations of prices, because he only has a little less than fifty quid he can spend freely, the rest of his savings going to buy actual food and pay hotel rooms for the rest of the trip.

it's all too cute, really, how the people from the fair seem to be utterly scared of harry at first, this tall thing, the piercings on his face and spikes on his clothes working against him; but as soon as he opens his mouth and greets them dumbly, smiling wide, everyone melts, utterly charmed.

louis knows the feeling alright.

they make their way through the market slowly - louis knows he said a couple of minutes, but everybody knew he actually meant a couple of hours, so he assumes that liam, zayn and niall stopped at a bar or something, found themselves some entertainment. the sun is slowly setting, and where the light used to paint everything gold and honey, it now colours the corners of the streets with mauve and plum, shades of violet and soft pink. the only strong source of light besides the sun are the fairy lights hanging lazily around the street lamps casting rosy shadows after the people walking around, moving bodies blurring caramel and cedar.

he pretends he doesn't notice the way harry's body keeps getting closer, touching his elbows and legs by accident. he knows it's just gravity - the way they seem to drift back together from wherever they are, like magnets finally finding their pull - but he has to fight it, so he doesn't linger on their touch. he doesn't lock eyes with harry when he asks him a question, he doesn't laugh for too long when harry cracks a joke. he just keeps to himself, mostly, because it's still harry, and he refuses to hurt him the way he is hurting himself, going against his nature of relaxing around him.

his plans are going well until they are hit by a train.

(a metaphorical train.)

they find a group of french and argentinian musicians playing tango with their instruments on the streets, all eight of them bundled up on the dark pavement. harry chats with a couple in between cigarettes, a mix of french and english, and then they are playing a slow, nostalgic song, as if something like velvet was made into a sound, wine-stained and rich.

harry starts to dance ridiculously, the slow movements of his body like sea waves in the night. stars are already starting to turn up on the kaleidoscope of colours that is the sky, and the whole scene makes louis feels like he is underwater, all languid movements and soft motions.

harry takes his hand, and mesmerized, louis can't make himself say no.

they dance under the sunset, the light painting their bodies silver and lavender and platinum, turning them into moving statues from the renaissance. where his body touches harry’s, everything is white heat and silent explosions, the comfort of him setting his bones on fire and at ease at the same time. he just - he just can't understand how he can love someone so much, how it keeps growing, how it consumes his entire being. it's messy and confusing and beautiful, but he knows that there's a border he can't cross - and it hurts a little, knowing that maybe if harry was his age, they could go to the same university together. that maybe if the band got signed, they could keep playing and recording together. that maybe if the world wasn't so intent on fucking with their lives, they could be together.

because now - under the quiet sky with hands on waists and warmness seeping into his bones through cotton-clothed contact - he senses harry may love him too.

the fucking timing, honestly.

the songs ends and a couple of people around stop to clap. not breaking contact, harry bends over to toss a ten pound note to the group, smiling. it's such a stupid thing to do, such a harry thing to do - give too much of what he almost doesn't have (the money) to something he doesn't need to give (the song). louis doesn't think he understands until he sees harry's face, beaming smile and bright eyes; and then he gets that maybe the ten quid isn't the value of the song in itself, but something to thank those people for the moment they had.

they part ways with the musicians, smiling, silence coating the moment with a heavy gentleness; they keep on walking, loud boots making echoes on the ghost streets, the market disappearing behind their backs. louis can feel a buzz under his skin the entire time, something he knows harry feels too. it's frantic and electric and they still have their arms linked, his elbows poking harry's ribs, lightning powering his veins.

"so it seems they let the fags enter the city," someone says between laughter. the voice is cold, though, and the words feel like stabs to their skin. "wearing make up and walking on the streets like they are entitled to it, rubbing their gayness in our faces. what a joke."

louis whole body tenses, and harry's mouth assumes the form of a thin line. the guy is in a clearly drunk group, sipping a beer and smirking like he owns the world. there are shards and shards of glass at his feet, something like dozens of broken bottles, and the whole situation screams trouble.

"lou. lou, c'mon," harry urges him in whispers.

"i wonder who tops and who takes it like a dog? what do you think, james?" the guy continues, now addressing one of his friends, a vile smirk on his face.

"it's the small one, i bet. with all the black clothes, he still manages to look like a girl."

the both of them full-on stop, and harry has his chin up, a dangerous look in his eyes. there are five of them, but louis and harry stand up together like twin towers, stark.

"excuse me?" louis says, the tone of his voice anything but polite. "do any of you have a fucking problem with us?"

the group tenses, because louis might be small and tiny, and they’re clearly outnumbered, but fuck if he doesn't carry himself like the biggest person in the world.

"he asked if we have a problem, guys!" he asks to the group. "c'mon, don't be rude. the fag is asking us if we have a problem! he probably wants to show off to his girlfriend right there, try to pretend he is masculine or something. dykes, honestly."

and that’s it; louis punches him.

he throws a punch like the sky throws stars - careless but caring, caring too much to do anything else. there's skin and there's blood, and he flexes his hand after he finishes.

it all becomes a mess of bodies and limbs after that; his hand hurts but he managed to knock out the fucker, and now the skin on his knuckles is red and raw and on someone else's face. he doesn't really register or pay attention to what's happening around him - there's something like rage blinding him, clouding his brain - but he can sense harry behind him throwing punches, too.

after he takes down the second guy - an elbow on his stomach, a kick on his shins - he needs a little more time, the element of surprise lost. louis takes a deep breath, recovering, and then, on his one second of distraction, he receives a kick to his gut.

he can't make out much after that. there is pain and there is blood, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe. white noise surrounds him while an unknown foot keeps hitting his skin, forcing the air out of his lungs. and then there is harry's voice. harry is screaming something, and louis can't make out what it is, because his insides and ribs hurt so much that it muffles everything else. but his mind still screams for him to get up, because harry can't get hurt, no, harry can't get hurt, not because of him.

louis rolls over to try to get away, the pain fading a little. he hears a muffled thump, something like a body being shoved, and then the hits to his back stop, the hitting stops entirely.

"louis, louis, louis," harry's voice takes over his mind. "get up. get up! i'm so sorry, but we have to go now - i think the one who fled is going to call the police."

"fuck." he says, feeling dizzy, everything around him fogged up, everything kind of blurred around the edges. he gets himself up with the help of harry's hand, and then they run back as fast as they can, stumbling along the streets, getting lost a couple of times before they really know where they are. his head aches and his hand hurts and his ribcage pounds, everything stings with pain, and there's this maze of houses and streets and people and dots on his visions, wind and salt.

when they get to the van, niall is already in the front seat. he seems to be sleeping, but then harry is pounding violently on the glass windows, shooting worried looks back at louis, who seems to be in an in-between state of consciousness, eyes clouded-white.

"niall. niall, open up! please. we need to go now."

niall jolts with the noise, drowsy, and when he notices through the glass the state the boys are in, his eyes widen considerably.

"what the fuck happened to you two?"

"don't just fucking sit there! open the damn door and call liam and zayn, we need to get the fuck out of here."

"the boys are inside, fuck, calm down, i'm opening the fucking door-"

louis and harry both jump inside - and then all five of them hear something, an ear piercing noise, and looking out of the window, there's a police car coming from the end of the street.

"go! go, go, go!" harry screams.

so niall obeys.

♦ ♦ ♦

an underlying tension is running through the van.

as soon as niall hits the gas pedal, there is silence, heavy breathing coming from harry and louis, the hush, hush, hush from the oxygen being pulled in and out; the distance between their bodies layered. louis made sure of that - to keep himself as far away as possible from harry, because he couldn't look at him and not feel responsible for what happened.

(there is blood on his lip, and it seems like bright purple paint has been brushed under his left eye; eyeliner is smudged all over, too, and louis wants to make all of that non-existent, wants to kiss all the bruises and brush all his injuries away. he - he loves him, so fucking much. he loves all of him, skin and bones and dimples and stupid hair. he loves his flower child spirit, loves his gentleness beneath all the tattoos, and piercings, and black, loves his body and soul. harry is a punk, but he isn't violent or vicious like most people think they are. and louis, because he is a fucking idiot, had exposed him to that because he wasn't able to swallow a few insults and keep walking.)

(there is nothing more painful than being the reason the people you love are hurt.)

the thing is, while harry retells the story briefly, the boys notice, too. liam raises his eyebrows, niall lets out a low whistle, zayn closes his eyes and looks out of the window. it's all very tense, and he wants to be smaller and smaller, make himself disappear... he tries to pretend it doesn't, but the weight of the words he heard back in the street drags him down.

harry asks for their emergency bag under liam's seat, and when he moves to sit next to louis, probably to help him with his injuries, louis flinches away. it's like the wind is knocked out of harry; his face goes from soft to vulnerable, pained, and then travels to anger.

"so it’s like this now?" he is shaking with anger, trembling, and the bandage he has in his hands falls to the floor of the van. "you - you didn't punch them because you were offended, you did it because - " he turns around, facing the door, shoulders shaking. "you did it because you’re actually disgusted by the idea, right? disgusted by me being gay. i never - i never took you for an homophobe, but i guess not coming out to any of you before was a good idea, because otherwise - " he shakes, shakes, his shoulders shake, and louis knows he is stopping himself from crying. louis’ heart breaks. he wants - he wants to interrupt harry, tell him how wrong he is, but there's a lump in his throat holding him back, so he just shuts his eyes and takes it. "you know what? i'm fucking done. i'm just - niall, stop the van, stop the fucking van!"

harry voice trembles, but the intent is clear. niall, once again, obeys him - maybe out of surprise, maybe out of fear, perhaps out of respect. and with a sudden halt, the car stops the door opens and harry’s out, running down the side road like a madman.

silence.

"man," liam's voice comes out seriously, his puppy eyes actually digging holes into louis. "you need to tell him."

"i'm - i just -" louis is trembling, shaking just as badly as harry had been, everything crashing down around him. "i'm not - i need to apologize. but there's nothing to tell him."

he doesn't stay inside to hear what else the others have to say. he doesn't see the looks liam and niall exchange, doesn't hear the exhale of zayn's nervous breathing - quivering and terrified - he merely jumps out of the van to follow harry and make things right.

♦ ♦ ♦

outside, the wind is an angry hurricane; everything is faded and blue, sugar gray-green, grass sneaking out of the division between road and land. the clouds play a game of hide and seek with the silver of the sky, painting a beautiful gradient that goes from bright ash to soft cerulean - and sends hazy cold light to everything beneath it, painting harry and louis the same colours.

louis stands a few steps behind harry, calming himself. he stays like that for a long time, just observing him; harry is crouched on the floor, lean body curled in a ball and making himself small. the leather of his jacket rising and sinking, his shoulders moving because of his heavy breathing, and louis wants to hold him, keep him in his arms forever.

"you are wrong, you know?" his voice comes out strong amidst all of the wind. "you are so, so wrong, harry."

"i told you a series of things inside there. enlighten me, then." his voice comes out tired. and louis breaks once more.

"i didn't punch them because i was angry at being thought of as gay, or being associated with you." he takes a deep breath and joins the space next to harry. "it would be hypocritical, since i'm - i'm, you know."

"you what?" and if there's a time where he looks more young than this, more hopeful, more vulnerable - damn everything. so he whispers, just the ghost of his breath next to louis. "say it, lou."

"i'm also gay. i'm also gay," he whispers, and it feels like he is bursting, the weight he carried all these times on his bones melting the walls he built in every crack of his body. the moment feels blurred, the world feels blurred, everything pistachio and mint-like, all candy colours swirling like smoke. "i'm also gay, and i'm not yet totally ok with it, and i hated what they were calling us, hated being called a girl, hated the -" he pauses where his voice cracks, but he has to continue, because... it's harry there, and if he can speak to anyone, it's him. it's always him. "and i flinched from you not because of disgust with you, but because of disgust with myself. because i exposed you to that, and it hurt you, and i love you so - you are my best friend, harry. i just, i wish i could put into words, i wish i could express myself with words like how we express ourselves with music, because - because you are always here, always with me, always in the back of my mind. you - you live right with me, all the time."

"lou. lou lou lou." harry untangles from his curly ball and jumps into his space, nose fitting under his neck, arms going around him. it's slow, how his nerves seem to awake beneath the warmness, because between them, there's still leather and dirt cotton and hair, but also tiny bits of contact of skin on skin; where harry's thumb brushes the stubble on his jaw, where harry's eyelashes tickle his collarbones. the action takes him completely by surprise, but he melts into the touch, tired of all the pretending and tired of everything. "there's nothing wrong... there's nothing wrong with being gay, you know that, right? there's nothing wrong with you. you are - " his words tickle louis' skin, warm breath painting braille-shaped shivers all over him. "you - you are so. i love you so much. and you didn't, no, it wasn't your fault. they were being assholes. they were being stupid and idiots and you defended us like a champ. louis, we took down four guys and made one fled." he pauses, and even though louis can't see his face, he knows he is smiling. "dream team, remember?"

"yeah." he chokes, the memory of one of their first days as friends coming back to him while smelling harry's hair, closed eyes. damn zayn, damn their stupid insecurities, damn softening the blow. because what’s the need of people to transform memories and experiences into heavy-weighted things? he doesn't want to have his last teenager moments with harry being gray and blurred. he wants colours and sharpness and sweet smoke, wants the high of it pumping his veins even when it's over. "dream team."

after a couple of minutes, both of them return to the van. the three boys stare at them curiously - the way louis’ hand is curled on harry's waist, his body leaning in, but not quite all the way. waiting, they are.

"harry is gay, i'm gay. does anybody have a problem with those news?" he blurts out, aggressively defensive.

"sorry to break it to you, mate, but it's not really news." niall answers, cheerful, and starts the car again. harry laughs recklessly, throwing his head back, and louis observes the curve of his throat, adam's apple bobbling, something like happiness blooming out of his chest.

and when they are all settled, after harry takes care of their scraps and injuries, while conversation is being made again, louis sees zayn observing liam by the corners of his eyes and thinks - thinks that maybe there is some news there, but news that hasn't been picked up by them just yet.

♦ ♦ ♦

their next stop is to camp in the woods.

they drive for a couple of minutes until liam looks up the map and reminds them that nearby there's a legal place to set up their tents. it's their seventh day driving, and with the fight and discussion and general walking, all of them are knackered, wanting just to lie down and sleep. it's already dark out there - an indigo blanket open above them, the only lights coming from the hidden moon and road signs, the shadows of the trees swallowing their bodies. everything is dark and languid and sort of beautiful, the sharp silhouettes of the trees making moonlight shaped patterns on the road.

they park in a lot that is open for campers but has no cars on it, and distribute the backpacks around - with louis not carrying anything, only the lanterns, to nobody's surprise - and even though everybody complains, they let him get away with it because he has all of them wrapped around his finger.

the way is a little bit tricky; there's an open path with a couple of stones marking where they are meant to go, but not saying how far they should go, so liam and louis enter in an argument about where they should set up; the latter argues that it's better to be closer to the road - "it's safer, there could be animals, like bears and shit" - and the former argues in favour of the glade far away - "there aren't any fucking bears in england, shithead, and it's more silent anyway". in the end, niall is the one to decide, just sitting down on an open space on the middle ground.

setting up stuff is a little bit tricky; it's cold and it's windy, everything dark and blurred. louis holds maybe half a dozen flashlights while harry and liam set everything up, being helped by zayn once or twice. niall just keeps strumming on his guitar, playing the melody of one of their songs until they are all finished, tents up and logs for the fire in a corner, nervous energy buzzing up and down.

when the fire is lit, however, it changes everything.

the flames burn low and bright and orange, the light flickering gold and honey like television static. around the boys, there is a kaleidoscope of blacks; curvy shadows being cascaded over them like water, lazy tones of rich chocolate and coffee, making dramatic drawings all over the place.

niall is draped on liam's warmth, head over his lap and hair being played with. they are both laughing at something in secret, and zayn watches them intently. louis thinks he may be frowning, but it's difficult to really see with the darkness, shadows playing hide and seek with the light, and how close harry is to him.

because he is. close.

their knees are touching and he keeps elbowing him by accident when talking, the klutz. and everytime it happens, harry sends him a little smile, making louis’ breath hitch. because the thing is: harry is sort of breathtakingly beautiful, isn't he, with his dumb curly hair and frog smile, eyes glowing green in the dark.

"oh god." niall groans. "stop flirting. i cannot take it anymore." he muffles the last part on liam's shirt. there's a blush creeping over harry's neck.

"were we that obvious?" louis asks with a smirk, and observes by the corner of his eyes harry look at him intently, with his mouth slightly parted.

"clear as water, mate," zayn says sharply, fumbling with something on his hands. it's a lighter and a pack, and the silence pokes all of them until he speaks again. "i'm going for a smoke. if anyone wants also, you know." he says that looking briefly at louis, getting up silently.

louis follows him then, a quick whispered, "be right back," to the boys. while he walks, he keeps a trained eye on him, steps logic and calculated, making enough noise to show the other he is being followed. zayn stops next to a random tree and turns around slowly, dragging the cigarette from his lips and exhaling smoke.

"you and him - "

"let's stop pretending to talk about me and admit this is really about you, yeah? it saves a hell lot more time," louis shoots back fast but not unkindly, soft eyes lingering on zayn's guarded expression.

"very well, then." he lets out a dry chuckle with a column of smoke, graffiti colours swirling around, and looks at louis’ eyes. "how do you do it, then?"

"i'm not sure i'm following what you - "

"how do you handle this? how do you put yourself out there for him when your days are numbered?"

and wow. the question is heavier then he expected.

"it's because i just, i realised our days are not numbered at all, zayn," he answers then, sincerity dripping from his words like maple syrup. "when - when harry got hurt, i went crazy. i really did. nothing i was thinking made any sense except that i loved him, except that i loved him too much for him to be exposed because of me. and it's kind of scary, isn't it, to feel so much for someone, but when he reacted back to me being an idiot, me punishing myself... i realised that maybe he loved me just as much, and punishing me is punishing him, and if we feel what we feel, there is no doubt in my freaking mind that we are not falling out because of distance... or, you know, other stuff. and we haven't even - we haven't even done anything - oh, shut up, i meant kissing and stuff, oh god - but i know it's there. i am sure it's there." zayn has his eyes on him, and they are big. he's so young, they are all so young, and sometimes he forgets about it because they pretend too well. "this trip is showing me that maybe they need us just as much as we need them, you know?" he takes the joint from zayn's hand and breathes it in. "and there's nothing wrong with that. being wanted - and wanting."

silence.

"but we have different kinds of need, right? i'm just - i don't - i don't think i'm - "

silence.

"deep breaths, z."

"i think i might not - shit, this is hard as fuck, fuck - i might, i might not be completely straight as well, or shit." he looks at the ground, avoiding louis’ eyes, and his voice comes so gentle next that zayn wonders if it really is him talking.

"no surprise there, mate. this band is so far from the heterosexuality spectrum that it is scary." zayn ponders something, and then opens his mouth, words tumbling out like stars.

"do you think liam...?" he smiles sadly to the ground, arms going around himself to keep the heat - or maybe protect himself, heart already predicting an answer.

"i don't know? perhaps. maybe." louis throws the rest of the cigarette to the ground, combat boot stepping over it to snuff the fire out. "but it is not my place to ponder this and give the answer to you, yeah?"

"yeah."

they walk back to the camp in silence, zayn's arm hugging louis' waist and louis' arm over his shoulders. the air is quiet and crispy-black, but there is something like green hope-happiness blooming over both of their chests.

♦ ♦ ♦

 

zayn is the first one to call the night; he stretches lazily before yawning, and everything seems a bit exaggerated before they remember he's been the one driving most of the nights. liam is the next - he follows to zayn's tent, and niall almost falls asleep holding his guitar before claiming the other one for himself, only himself, and wiggling his eyebrows to a rather blushing harry and very pleased louis.

"i don't want to be awoken, so please keep the noises at a minimum when you two go to sleep." he says it like it’s a dirty word, making harry blush nervously, red in the entire neck.

"we are not - " he begins, but niall is already far away, and louis is right there.

they stay in silence for a little bit, the conversation about tattoos they were having dying abruptly. but it's a good kind of silence, though - a peaceful sort of silence, with the flames flickering light on their bodies, shaping the shadows into haunting, dark things.

"louis - lou?" harry speaks finally, voice wavering.

"yeah?"

"can i..." he moves his head a little, staring at louis. "can we go inside the tent to, like, talk? here outside is a bit, um, intimidating."

"yeah, of course, love." he laughs, shaking his head a little. "still afraid of the dark?" he pokes harry's tummy while they get up from the logs, and hears a squeal coming from him.

"hey! stop, lou, stop!" he giggles, trying to get away from him. "lou!"

"just get inside the damn tent, curly." he shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. where he touched harry - his skin tingles, his insides tingle, all warm, high fever spreading over his bones.

the next moments are a little awkward - they settle front to front, sitting with curved backs and shy smiles, the silent of the night weighting the importance of everything; but it's beautiful, always beautiful with them, how the dark doesn't let them really see each other, just sense their presence all over.

"i think i like you. more then like, even," harry blurts out, flickering the lantern in his hands on and off, the light of it cascading shadows all over the place. his eyes widen, his mouth goes slack - and that's the expression of his when he does something unexpected even for himself, and louis smiles.

"you know how i feel, right?" louis takes one of harry's hands on his own, thumb brushing circles around the palm.

"i never thought - not before today, not really." he lets out a relieved breath. "sometimes i had an inkling and i tried to act on it, but then you, you acted weird, and then we were out and you kissed girls, or talked about eleanor's legs or anything else, and i just -" he shuts his eyes. "and it just hurt too much, and you are you, and i never thought that you could, especially me, not me -"

"harry." his voice is barely a whisper, but it's there. he is shaking. "i've always thought it was you just being you, mainly because you are always flirting with people, even when you don't notice." he laughs, a shaky breath, and continues before harry gets to interrupt. "so - and i wasn't even comfortable with my own sexuality back then, i don't think i'm still totally - anyway. that's not the point. the point is, i've always loved you. you - fuck, harry, you live where my bones bend and break. it's always been you. i don't think i can say it or express it in any other way."

they stare at one another for a long moment; harry's pupils are blown wide, eyes shy but brave.

"can i kiss you now?"

"fucking hell, curly."

louis jumps into his direction then, licks into his mouth - tentative and slow, tasting the marshmallows they had earlier still. harry closes his eyes, holds his breath, deepens the kiss and it's - everything is warm, they are all warm, the moment making their brains foggy and limbs languid, the ghost of their fingertips everywhere.

and it's not a sexual thing. they are both sexual beings, but when they lay down over the blankets and grass, fingers gripping skin, it's - it's just an act of reassurance, of saying to each other i'm here, of being close on the way they've always wanted but never thought they could. and when harry falls asleep into louis arms, long body curling itself to form a small spoon - louis just kisses the top of his head and makes his grip a little bit tighter, chin tucked over harry's head.

outside, the rush of the leaves play a melody that sounds a lot like falling in love. inside, there's the softness of their feelings growing beneath the hardness of the world, the picture of sweetness - two punks, tattoos dancing on sleeves and piercings everywhere, dark clothes covering the blush of their bodies - in love, limbs still but hearts in motion.

♦ ♦ ♦

when louis awakens the next morning, the sun isn't completely out yet; inside the red tent, the light that comes from the outside paints everything from shades of red to pink, from bubblegum to magenta to wine, tones blending smooth. he slowly untangles himself from harry - where they have touched through the night burns, warm skin tinged blush-rose - and reaches for a bag in the corner, where one of his notebooks and stack of pens are. his fingers tingle to write, itch to blurt words out, and when the ink starts to flow on paper, he lets the words fly out like butterflies.

there's a boy he's 6 feet tall and wears black all over but inside his body there are only shades of pearl and pink he's small but so so big when he walks things happen i happen. i'm going away soon and i think i think that scares me and that scares me because i just don't know where to fit when i'm not with him. he makes... he makes my sharp edges soften, i think he does, -

"loooou." low and throaty, harry's voice tickles louis’ jaw, sleepy-languid, water flowing slow. "watch'a doing?"

"just writing, love," he answers blushing, because he is behaving like a teenager, scribbling crooked sentences about his crush.

"hmmmm," harry whines, nuzzling his nose behind louis’ ear. "come back to me, lou. it's early."

louis laughs at that, maybe even giggles, because it doesn't make a bit of sense, but harry is the one who's speaking, so it's ok. he throws his notebook in the corner of the tent and turns around to face harry; nose on nose, eyelashes on eyelashes. he's staring at him with glowing eyes, a bright spot of green surrounded by shades of ruby and fuchsia, with nothing hidden underneath.

"you are cute," louis whispers, kissing the tip of his nose, the corner of his eyes, near the piercing at his eyebrows; above the bow of his lips. at that, harry closes his eyes and smiles wide.

"'m not cute," he shoots back, but it's too late. "i'm a punk. i have tattoos and i curse all the time. so punk. reckless."

"you have tattoos alright." louis laughs and kisses the curve of his throat, the beginning of one of his swallows on his collarbones, the cherry bomb design by his shoulders. he looks up and louis notices the way his pupils are blown wide, how his lips are just slightly parted. "want a good morning blowjob?"

the reaction he gets is a flush and a silent nod from harry, who still observes him by looking beneath dark eyelashes, the light painting colourful shards of cherry and magenta over his cheekbones. "but you need to be quiet, ok, love? the boys are sleeping and we don't want to wake them up, do we?" harry shakes his head, eager. louis smirks.

it's chilly out there, but inside the tent, both of their bodies burn like wildfire.

louis keeps trailing kisses down harry's chest, over the pale shirt and then over his skin, pushing the fabric up to lick at his bellybutton and love-handles. there's still a little bit of baby fat in there, and louis loves it, loves how harry's skin is marble and it's soft, everything about him is soft and smooth like - like clouds and cotton candy, and his examples don't even make sense, but it’s harry, so. he keeps nibbling on skin, tasting every corner of his stomach, salt and sweat. he has wanted him for so long, far too much, and it's so so good, his body reacting to everything, and then -

and then his hands trail over harry's boxers, fingers brushing over the outline of his cock, and fuck, it's already more than half hard.

louis exchanges his hand with his mouth, face getting closer to harry's groin, breath all warm and humid over him, the hands which are holding harry down shaking.

under him, a boy trembles.

louis takes his sweet time with harry, taking the sweatpants and underpants off slowly in lazy sorts of motion, nibbling on the skin of inside harry's thighs. he is teasing harry, he knows he is, and by the soft whimpers he lets out when louis brushes his knuckles or fingers over his groin, it's definitely working.

"c'mon, louis," he mumbles, shaking. louis looks up again while he takes the last item of harry's clothing off, and observes his eyes closing shut while he takes a tentative lick up his shaft. "lo - loou - "

it's a mix of a whimper and a moan, and it's hot, so fucking hot, everything is, really - from the way harry's back arches to the way his breath hitches, and everything is warm heat and languorous desperation, electric energy between them. louis takes harry's cock entirely in his mouth then, cannot contain himself anymore, and the way harry bucks his hips up and hits the back of his throat - to have his mouth full of him, full of harry...

the thought makes his boxers seem too small for him.

he moves one of his hands down, takes his own cock and works on it while sucking harry, rhythm faltering a couple of times when the pleasure becomes too overwhelming. but he keeps bobbing his head up and down, pressing his fingers from the other hand deep into harry's hip to keep him from moving too much. bruises are gonna form on his milky-white skin, shades of violet and lilac that are only going to fade maybe weeks after the trip is over, and that sends a shiver up his spine; there's something so deeply intimate about marking someone else, about claiming a piece of their skin as yours. he can't fathom that completely yet.

"lou, i'm, i'm close, so fucking close -" he tugs at his hair, hands and whole body trembling, and fuck - fuck if when louis looks up and sees his huge mouth open wide, rose flush up his cheeks - fuck if it isn't the hottest fucking thing he has ever seen, fuck fuck fuck -

harry shoots one of his knees up, the tip brushing over louis clothed cock, and then there's white-hot pleasure building inside his body, ivory spots clouding his vision, and louis is coming, he's coming he's coming he's coming, biting his tongue to not scream and possibly wake the boys.

he still sucks harry like a pro, though, mouth open wide and cheeks hollowed out, tongue pressing alongside the vein on his length. his brain is muddled and hazy - still high from the orgasm, a little blurred around the edges - and when he hears a rough blurt out - fuck! lou, i’m - coming from harry's ribcage, he collapses, body shivering along with harry's aftershocks.

louis swallows all the come, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue, and looks up. harry is breathing heavy, his mouth parted and pupils blown wide.

he looks lovely and so, so wrecked.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

after louis changes his sleeping pants to actual trousers and cleans himself up with a couple of wet flannels, they both come out of the tent.

the coldness of the wind knocks into them both, sharp and blinding, a strong contrast to the dampness and humid heat inside. they are both still a little wobbly in the knees from the orgasms, the foggy-icy air not helping, making them shivery and cuddly. where they walk, the earth seems to bend underneath, wet and rich, and when both of them reach the remnants of the bonfire from the night before, harry collapses way too fast on a log with a little bit of moss.

"it's all sorts of beautiful here, isn't it?" he starts, eyes getting lost in the messy texture the leaves make above him. "i feel like we are standing still in time right now. yesterday... yesterday, i felt it too." louis sits by his side and lays his head on his shoulders. it's silent, everything is crisp silent, the only noise coming from the birds and the leaves. "i wish we could stay here forever."

it's a heavy, weighted thing to say, with so many meanings layered underneath it, but the moment is made by them both and a feeling, a light-flowy feeling. louis takes harry's hand on his own, thumb making circular motions on his palm.

"your hand is cold," he says like the sentence is an answer, his own piece of mind, nuzzling his nose in harry's hair.

pressed together, their heartbeats resonate.

the moment is silent, crisp-gray silent, with everything around them faded to nothing.

"how are we going to make it, lou?"

"i don't care." he feels harry tensing beside him, and realises his words could have a double meaning. "not that i don't care about us, god, no. harry, harry - look at me." he turns around and places his hands over his cheeks. "it's just that i don't care whatever it takes. i'm - i'm going to get a job, ok, be a fucking waiter or whatever, and then i'm gonna buy train tickets to come to see you whenever i can, and on christmas or things like that. i'm going to come back to spend time with my mom and the girls and we will see each other, too. and - "

"and i'm going to use liam's van to drive here." his expression is determined. "and i'm going to get a part time job too, to afford the gas and stuff, i'm - "

"you should really focus on school, love - "

"i don't care. i really, really don't care." he laughs freely, and the sigh is breathtaking. the love he has for this boy presses inside his ribcage, threatening to spill over. "i'm not going to college, anyway, mom knows that. i'm on music. i have to be on music." he pauses, looking with a defiant expression into louis’ eyes. "and even though we won't be making it together anymore, i have to be with you, too. ok?"

"ok. and we still have telephones, texting - "

"and s -"

"and skype, yes - "

"i was going to say sexting, but that works, too." harry grins.

"oh my god. oh my god." he chokes, hiding his face on the crook of harry's neck. "you are horrible. you just can't say those things out loud."

"what things?" niall's voice invades the campfire space, a stark contrast to the whispering that had been going on before. he looks at both of the boys, though, the blush on louis’ neck and how harry seems pleased, the way they are draped over each other, and shakes his head. "you know what? never mind."

they laugh, and then all tree of them settle in an easy conversation - harry moves to make tea, and louis finds four bags of half eaten chips from the night before. liam joins them a while later, strangely flushed, and no one makes anything out of it until zayn emerges from the tent with only pants on.

"has anyone seen my purple shirt? i thought i had it in my backpack, but it's not there." he's still sleepy, body shivering despite the warm weather, and louis notices that liam is making a very strong effort not to look at him.

"you sure you put it there, mate? maybe in the mess of yesterday - "

"i'm very sure," he mumbles, but then seems to give up. "can i borrow something of yours? that was the only spare i had here with me. the rest is in the car."

"already wearing my spare too, sorry," louis answers. "maybe liam has something extra, though."

he receives glares from both of the boys.

"i maybe have something, but, um, can you wait here, though? just wait."

"...ok?" zayn sends him a worried look, because he is acting weird - but lets it slide, because it's early and he is tired and everything is hot.

after a couple of minutes, liam comes back with a ramones short-sleeve, the edges of the shirt frayed from use. it's one of his favorites, louis knows that, and the fact that he lets zayn borrow may speak volumes.

after all of them have breakfast and they start to set things back in the van, harry whispers to louis.

"do you think liam is the one who stole his shirt?"

"i have no doubts about it." and they both laugh, easy and free. apparently, they are not the only idiots in their group.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

it's louis’ turn to drive, and the group settles into a quiet silence.

harry is shotgun by his side and his eyes are half closed, half open, peace and coziness clouding over him. the light that comes out of the windows paints everything into a blur of hazy gold and soft yellow, dripping over their bodies like water, painting harry's neck and collarbones with spectacles of ivory.

it's all sorts of beautiful, the moment and his boy.

"what do you want to do on our last day?" he asks him, one of his hands on the wheel and the other a pressing point over harry's tight.

"i want to make out with you," he whispers and louis laughs freely, catching the sunlight with his mouth, teeth shining pearly-white under it. "but i think they wouldn't be really into that, so maybe we should drive really fast directly to london and go to that carnival liam looked up? and at night - we could go clubbing. they won't even ask, but i brought my fake id anyways."

"you are so cute. i still can't believe you need a fake id."

"niall needs it too! and liam just stopped using it - "

"still cute." he brushes the knuckles of the hand he isn't gripping the wheel over harry's skin, where neck meets jaw, and feels him smile.

"whatever, lou." he blows a raspberry under louis ear, making him shiver. "we could also stop at the next city where there's like, a couple of museums, but then we would have to drive through the night or wake up really early and you and zayn would get into uni registration knackered, so. i think the best option is the first, but it's up to vote."

"carnival!" niall shouts form behind, and wow - for a while louis forgot he was also with his other three best mates in the same car, the energy of harry hazy white, blinding him with brightness.

"i want to sleep, so london too," zayn adds.

"i was going to suggest for us to rob one or two banks, but those are three votes - liam and i can recognize when we are outnumbered."

"don't ever include me in your evil schemes, tommo."

"you say that now, but yesterday you were already telling me how many chicken nuggets you were going to buy with the money."

"damn it, louis. i thought we had agreed to keep it a secret - "

"own your words, liam. own your words."

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

the thing is, london is big.

it's huge and gray, even in the mid-afternoon sun, clouds everywhere keeping the city in a soft aluminium blanket, sunlight hidden by cotton. and it's scary, harry thinks, it's scary to think that louis is the one who's coming here, because he doesn't want his golden light to be bottled up by the silver of everybody else's, by the graphite and iron and ashes, thousands of shades of gray.

he's so afraid.

"stop thinking so hard." louis interrupts harry's wandering, glancing behind long long eyelashes. "it's going to break your brain."

"heeeeey," he replies, and honestly, harry doesn't know how he is in love with him. so rude. "stop that."

they are settling in the hotel they checked in - a little small gray thing, cushioned between a house on the right and a bakery on the left, walls made of old stones. it's in a nice location, even though almost far away from places - but it's cheap, and they are only staying for the night, so everything is alright. the five of them have an hour to shower - it's been more than a day, and every single one of them smells like sweat and boy-skin - set carefully on their schedule by liam, and then at 3 pm, a meeting at the lobby to grab the van outside and drive to the carnival.

but harry finds out he just wants to be inside the room with louis, undercover and all.

it's so - it's so heavy, is the thing, the want and need of having him by his side, the way his breathing changes when louis is near him. and louis is always near him, so maybe the thing is that his breathing is only different when louis is not, and it's such a big concept to take it in because louis shapes him, molds him into something else and louis, he loves him.

so much.

"i'm going in first, yeah?"

"but you always take so much time showering, lou."

"i do not."

"you so do," he replies, blinking. there's an idea forming on his head, something that's nice and settles well under his skin. "we could, you know, shower together. you can wash my hair and i can blow you under the water, me making you all warm."

"harry." he coughs, voice tight, all full of want. "harry."

and it's nice, nice to know he affects louis as much as louis affects him. he gets up from the bed and takes his clothes off, leaving a trail of pitch-black fabric on the floor, tugging louis along. they laugh a little like children, and when harry turns the shower on and cold water hits his skin, still all he can still feel is louis, warm and bright by his side.

he looks down and there he is: golden skin a little bit blurred around the edges, droplets over his eyelashes, wet shadows all over his honey-colored cheekbones.

gorgeous.

louis hands tug harry's hair a bit and they breathe all over themselves, mouths fitting together like starlight gazes over the water, teeth and tongue and the taste of chips they picked along the way. it's hazy and soft and slow and good, they are all good, louis’ fingers massaging harry's scalp with the hotel's apple shampoo, knuckles grazing tenderly over skin. there's foam all over them and the sides where they keep being pressed into each other, teenage want mixed with eagerness, but it's good. they are all good.

at some point the water has begun to heat up and the steam has begun to blur everything into a mess of wet boys and languid movements, like they aren't standing under the shower, but underwater. louis touches him hard, and he touches back too, a push and pull that's more about i'm here, are you too? and less about control. when they start to tire - little kisses being spread on the tip of the nose, top of the head, corner of the mouth - that's the moment harry drops to his knees then, and chases louis and his own orgasm with an untrained mouth and a very trained hand, whimpering sounds getting out of louis like stars arrive when the night comes.

everything is warm and drowsy after that, naked limbs numb where they touch. they dry themselves with the towels, louis taking care of harry and his hair, and both of them lie down on the bed under blankets, shivery from coming and the lost of hot humidity of the bathroom.

"i have a secret," harry whispers, breath tickling louis’ skin. outside, they can hear a bit of a drizzle - the beginning or the end, harry doesn't know, because they used quite some time inside the water, and - and he doesn't particularly care, with louis draped over him, or him draped over louis.

"enlighten me then, curly." he notices that his eyelashes are still wet, tangled together like messy spiderwebs, making the shadows over louis cheekbones not really shadows, but a kaleidoscope of gold and honey, variations of his own skin color.

"i like you better - i like you better when you are naked."

"is that so?" louis raises one of his eyebrows up, trying to make a serious expression, but it all fails when the corners of his mouth are fighting hard to expand. "am i only a body to give you pleasure?"

"i like my body when it is with your body - "

"harry. tell me you are not quoting e.e. cummings to me."

"it is so quite new a thing. muscles better and nerves more - "

"you are so ridiculous."

"i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like it when it is naked."

"oh my god, i can't believe you just - you are so embarassing." louis breathes out and he is laughing, laughing into harry's skin, voice muffled by the softness of the pillows and the curve of his boy's jaw, everything slow and hazy, the moment blurred around the edges.

but it's all good.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

"i think we should play a game."

the lights of the carnival flicker around the boys, magenta then cyan then yellow, over and over. everything around them is in a kaleidoscope of colors, lights bright and contours sharp, a sea of bodies and laughter.

the five are huddled together at the entrance of the carnival, zayn and harry sitting while the other three discuss standing. liam doesn't seem to be paying much attention, though, texting someone on his phone, and louis talks with his hands in big motions, confusing niall.

"what kind of game?" one of the boys asks while liam makes a face, because louis' games always end in trouble. the five of them have quite a number of stories that are fun to recall, but never good to experience, since there were more than a couple of times where jail was almost more than a possibility.

"a fun one. nothing really dangerous, just, you know, a bit of a banter between us? maybe we could do a competition of how many prizes we can win on the games in an hour - "

"you just want to woo harry with an unfair number of teddy bears, for godsake." zayn interrupts, but there is a fond smirk on his face, so louis almost doesn't feel offended.

"shut up, zayn," he barks back, and everyone around him laughs. "i'm not doing this to woo my boy, you idiot." harry blushes at that, neck a blurry sort of pink, and smiles wide, making his dimples appear on full-force. "i'm doing this to show these three punks that i'm the supreme tommo, and even if we are away, they aren't allowed to forget my superiority and how majestic - "

"fair enough, mate." zayn shakes his head and stands. "it settled, than? me and you against them? the babies?"

"we are not fucking babies! you two are the old ones!" niall replies, but zayn and louis aren't really there to listen; they start to run towards the carnival, a blur of black clothes and beaten up shoes, messy limbs and childish laughter.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

"i think we should just give up and go eat. louis probably paid the people who are on the stands to get the prizes or something," niall says to harry, both of them standing while observing liam try to shoot down a dozen ducks. "i know he's going to win, we know he's going to win, what's the sense of continuing my misery?"

harry just shakes his head, amused. liam stops shooting and sends him a glare.

"he's not going to win. i bet he and zayn are going to get one or two plushies, and then get lazy about carrying them, and dump them in a trash bin or something."

"what are we winning with this bet anyway?" niall throws his hands up, glaring at liam.

"honor, man. honor."

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

"this was a terrible idea. can't we just give up and go back to them and say we were mugged on our way?"

"mugged at a carnival, zayn? really? how are we going to explain this? that a really crazy kid came running towards us with a water gun and demanded we gave up our stuffed toys?" he shook his head, and tried to throw the damn ball at the target. "we just need to try harder."

"after your turn ends, i'm giving up."

"zaaaaayn. pleeeeease. i just - " he began, not turning around to face him, hands holding his last ball. louis’ shoulders tense, his whole posture stiffens, and zayn knows that whatever comes out of his mouth next is something genuine, louis on the peak of his vulnerability. and those moments - those moments are rare, so he listens. "i know you made fun of me, but i just need to have something to give to harry, ok, i don't have anything to give to him to remember me and i know it's silly, but i just need one thing, ok?"

"why don't you give him a song? something you wrote? i know you have tons of those." zayn's voice is soft, careful. he feels like louis might explode at any moment.

"don't you think it's too fucking early in this relationship for that, mate?"

"louis, you two have been dancing around each other for four years! if i think something, it's that it's already time you start to tell him what you write is for him!"

"oh." he turns around, and his voice comes out silvery, a smile slowly breaking on his face. "i think you might be right."

"of fucking course i'm right!" he laughs, clasping his hand over louis' shoulder. "now throw the damn ball and end this thing so we can go eat something and wait for the boys."

he throws the ball and misses, but he isn't really upset with the outcome.

they both walk to the food stands in silence, but it's not uncomfortable, not with louis pressed up against zayn and smiling hard, a silent thank you in the form of human contact. the lights flicker around them, lilac and magenta and bright blue, and the place is pure chaos in the prettiest form, and louis - louis is happy.

"where are the toys, huh?" harry's voice is muffled by the amount of people around them, and louis moves his head back and forth to look for him, surprised to hear his voice near, until he spots him by their left - with a very pleased-looking niall biting on a caramel apple. "you two were mugged on your way here or something?"

"that's precisely what happened, harold." he attempts to say it very seriously, but his mouth defies his own brain, breaking into a grin. he reaches for harry to tangle their hands together and to give him a kiss, but stops mid motion because they are in public, and god, if in that town when they were only laughing together they got shit... in places like that -

"what's the matter?" harry asks him, a frown on his face. "everything alright, lou?"

fuck it. fuck them.

"yeah." he leans in, full on the tiptoes, and pecks harry's lips. "everything’s alright."

♦ ♦ ♦

"where is liam, by the way?" zayn asks a few minutes later, amused tone shining through his voice.

"he's still getting the fucking stuffed toys, the moron."

they all laugh.

♦ ♦ ♦

"are you sure you don't want to go on the ferris wheel?" harry shouts over the line of people, louis' body already halfway inside the metal car. zayn shakes his head negatively, a small smile creeping on his face, and turns around to meet liam and niall bickering over something useless.

"i think they want us to have an alone moment, haz." louis pulls harry's body towards the cabin, and harry's heart seems to beat a bit faster over the nickname. louis' hand is warm, so so warm, and he feels the heat pulsating into his skin even over his clothes - feels louis all over him.

"oh." he laughs while louis settles by his side, the cabin closing with an abrupt noise. "that makes sense now."

the box they are inside starts to move then, and harry's hand finds louis' without the need to speak. they keep in silence the whole time, the lights of the carnival flickering over the silver aluminium and transparent glass on the windows - painting the insides in eerie colors, everything - from their skin to the fabric on the seats - flickering shades of purple and blue.

"harry?" louis’ voice is whispered soft, almost careful. "do you remember that day at your house - that day where the boys had already gone home and it was just... it was just you and me, and you were going to have your birthday in a few days - and we got the news?"

"yeah." he lays his head on louis' shoulder, nuzzling his nose on the curve of his throat. his voice sounds wistful. "yeah, i remember."

"i thought that was it, you know?" he smiles a little, eyes observing the people under him become smaller and smaller and smaller. "i thought that was our shot - even though i didn't want to give any hopes to you or the boys, i thought that was it. and that - that was when i realized, you know, that i wanted to spend all of my future with you. that i loved you. i think i always knew, but it never really hit me. i think i always knew that i really, really loved you."

♦ ♦ ♦

it was a cold day with layers and layers of snow, the slight blizzard outside covering everything with soft white blankets. inside the kitchen, louis and harry had been baking cookies for a while, laughter painting the air with colorful sounds - which translated into harry had been baking, and louis had just been observing - both of them listening to the same song of the clash on repeat, over and over. it wasn't anything they hadn't done before; louis eventually troubled harry, who feigned annoyance but really couldn't stop smiling, the dampness of the air curling his hair even more, but it worked. everything that day - everything worked.

anne suddenly appeared from the front door and shouted something about new mail for harry, throwing a couple of letters in the kitchen balcony and dropping a kiss on both of the boys' cheeks. harry kissed her back, louis smiled shyly - like whenever he was around his friends' parents - and when anne hurried upstairs to take a shower because she was definitely late for work, harry turned down the volume of the stereo.

he reached out from the balcony to the mail, a puzzled expression resting on his face, the hazy light from outside painting his skin in tones of pale beige and soft blues. he was particularly beautiful, that day, wearing an oversized creamy sweater and tight jeans, curly curly hair, his eyes innocently gentle.

"lou?" his voice came out strangled, eyes widening while he read the address the letter came from. "i think this is from syco."

"what?!?!" louis came to rest by his side, thumbs digging into the skin exposed between harry's pants and sweater. he didn't notice, because he never noticed those things - how when they were side by side, they had to be touching each other - but harry leaned into the touch, letting out a soft sigh.

"do you think that's the answer to the demo we sent? shit."

"fuck, harry, fuck. i wasn't expecting them to answer anymore - it's been like, what? six months? remember when liam told us that after four months and nothing back, we should just, you know, forget? hey, what - what the fuck are you doing?! don't - don't open it like that! wait, i need to prepare myself."

"louis, there isn't, like, a seven headed monster coming out of this. it's either a yes or a no. just take a deep breath, ok? i'm opening it up now."

"ok. deep breaths." he rested his forehead on harry's shoulder, closing his eyes. he could feel harry's arm moving next to him, opening the letter. louis thought that the sound of the paper was too loud, the ripping of it overpowering the guitar and loud voices of the music on the background.

a couple of minutes passed - hours, or seconds, louis couldn't know - and then harry spoke up.

"it's not a yes." his voice sounded strained, but there was a hint of something else in it, something dangerously resembling like hope. "but it's not a no either."

"what - what do you mean? harry, please don't fuck me up."

"it says that we are not quite what they are looking for, but." he paused for the effect, and then grinned wide, big mouth showing his teeth, dimples digging into his skin. "they liked our sound, and they want another demo? like, to make up their mind. it says here we sound promising, lou!"

"fuck." he looked up, a smile breaking over his face. "fuck, harry!"

they both laughed, louis sinking into his arms, harry spinning him around, breathless. it was all he could feel in that moment - the warmness of harry and the fast pace of his heart, the steadiness of a maybe in their future, the shot of them being together, of all the boys and him sticking together, but mostly - of him and harry sticking together. he could kiss him, in that moment, he could kiss him all over his face, on his cheeks and nose and on his mouth, and oh - fuck.

he loved harry.

he loved, loved harry, loved him so much.

and he could feel it shifting, the way he saw the world - because that was harry, lovely, wonderful harry, 16 years old and member of their punk band, but the guy who still baked in his free time and cried when watching titanic. it was electric blue, the way everything jolted around him with this new-found knowledge - and it kind of hurt a little, too - so he closed his eyes again to see all black, sinking into harry's arms one last time before drawing back.

that night, they both called the boys to give the news. they came to have a sleepover, and when louis got closer to harry on the bed they shared, no one decided to comment on it.

(they never heard back from the label, after that.)

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

when they get out of the ferris wheel, both of their lips are bruised and swollen, skin flushed. the other boys tease them mercilessly, but despite that, on the entire way back to the hotel, they still steal kisses from each other. and when they go to their rooms to shower and change to go to the club, harry and louis almost can't make in time again, because they just keep touching.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

the walls of the nightclub they are in beats with the music like an anatomical heart.

there are bodies and there are people, souls engulfed in flashing lights, cyan and icy undertones of magenta. everything is washed out by black smoke and silver music, the ceiling reflecting the movement with crisps edges. there are mirrors everywhere - when louis walks back to his boy, eyes searching the dance floor, he has to take care not to be engulfed in bodies or his own crippling image.

he engulfs himself in harry, then.

they stare at each other, bright blue and neon green, firefly eyes drinking themselves hungrily. the way they move is a little bit animalistic, contorted limbs shoving each other, rough touches and grabbing. harry's hands are on louis’ waist, fingers brushing the little bit of skin exposed by the ups and downs of his shirt - he touches there, presses everything he has into it, and louis’ eyes flutter shut. it seems like everything is about it, everything is about this moment standing still - and what is about love and lust that sends everything spiraling into infinite moments? where everything seems to drag over and over, but passes so fast, just by the blink of an eye?

the dance and the closeness of it is a deja-vu from one of their first nights on the trip - where everything between them was fragile and fleeting, teenager want translated into insecurities. louis remembers it so vividly; the touching and wanting to touch, the thinking of not being able to touch, and now - now it all seems so dumb, how they were obvious about it, all over each other, imprinted under their own skins.

harry gets closer to him, fitting his knees between louis' legs, and it sends jolts over both of them, warm energy connecting their pulses. louis guides his hands to harry's shoulders then, grabbing the drenched curls on the nape of his neck, pulls his face towards him -

and it's overwhelming, blazing heat exploding between them and louis licking inside his mouth, so so good. the rest of the people around them disappear, erased by the awareness of each other. if he could cry, he so would, happiness pressing his ribcage, wanting to run out. and it's ridiculous, everything is ridiculous and hot and good.

their mouths separate and then harry is whispering near his ear, all humid breath and rough voice.

"i want you to fuck me so bad."

louis lets out a dry chuckle.

fuck.

they make their way out of the dance floor to the outside, grabbing a cab and each other when they enter the car. louis' phone battery is on the verge of dying, so he shoots a quick text to niall to let him know that he and harry are already heading back to the hotel, and then procedes to shut it down, because he doesn't really - he doesn't really want any distractions.

when the cab stops, he tosses a couple of notes to the driver, and pulls harry outside for them to go quickly to the reception desk, grabbing their room cards and stumbling while entering the elevator. there's no one inside, just mirrors and bright lights - and horrible music, really horrible music, and the way they look at each other, not noticing anything besides it. they are kissing hard, bodies merging together under the noises of the moving machine, and when it announces they are on the 8th floor with a beep, the separation is nothing but slow and desperate.

they run down the hallways, two messy little things, and they run until they are in front of their room and harry's hands are trembling with expectation. louis helps him, holding his wrist still, and the card makes a soft noise while being taken out of the space.

louis opens harry carefully, slow and good, stretching him in long burns. harry begs, harry begs for it, lost in the heat and lust and louis, everything almost too much. and when the condom is rolled up and he enters him, he still wants - he stills wants him, still longs for him, still presses himself closer because he wants to bury and be buried and there's noise and skin from there, sharp intakes of breath and begging, love spilling from their bodies when they thought it was all too much for them.

after louis tosses the condom out and cleans harry's belly, he presses soft lazy kisses on his neck - and they fall asleep together, louis’ hands on harry's waist, their naked bodies touching - the scorch of their bodies merging themselves into one.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

 

it's the middle of the night when harry shakes louis awake.

"louis?" he whispers, voice gentle. it's dark in the room, midnight-blue and indigo, shadows blending everything into one thing. the light from the streets outside scapes from the corners of the curtains, faded purples and hazy silver defining harry's silhouette in the dark, but nothing else. "lou?"

"yeah?" he sounds lazy, voice still warm from sleep. harry wants to kiss him breathless.

"the boys are back. do you think you want - do you want to like, go to their room and sleep, all of us? for old times’ sake?" he stutters, brain still a bit foggy. harry's eyes are almost shut from adjusting to the light of his cellphone, screen brightening up when he received the text saying they were all back from niall.

"yeah, of course." he gets up, slowly opening his eyes and mouthing each syllable slow, like he's talking underwater. "let's just put some clothes on and we can go, yeah?" harry giggles.

they walk slowly to the room beside theirs, harry's fingers faintly holding louis’ wrist by his pulse point. when they go to knock on the door, zayn opens it almost immediately, crinkles on his eyes and a smile on his lips.

"liam thought you two wouldn't show up, you know." his voice sounds a bit wobbly, like he is high on weed or something. "but i knew."

they enter the room and zayn closes the door. inside, the lights are still on - this horrible, horrible yolk yellow, typical of cheap hotels - but niall is already asleep in the middle of their bed with his body almost being spooned by liam, who greets them with an almost imperceptible nod.

it takes a bit of time for all of them to settle down - it's a big bed, but there are so many of them, after all. when zayn finishes brushing his teeth and shuts the lights off, however, it gets a bit easier; more familiar, more like they've always done. five bodies cramped in so little space, heat passing from skin to skin, limbs intertwined. no one knows where they end, no one knows where they begin - and it's good, all of them, it feels like home. of course it's a bit bittersweet, but it's good anyway - like that heartache everyone who has ever fallen in love with their best friend knows.

in their sleep, none of them let go of each other. their bones don't want to say goodbye.

♦ ♦ ♦

in the morning light, everything seems clearer.

the curtains were forgotten open the night before, so the sun floods the room with golden colors, the dust in the air glittering like stars. harry is the first to wake; his body still feels sore from the night before, but his limbs are soft and pliant, skin all warm from the messy cuddling with the boys. strangely enough, he feels well rested - even though he went to bed late with them, and barely had any space to breathe along the night.

he untangles himself from louis’ arms, and manages to get his legs from under niall's knees. he moves in silent motions and takes his shower slowly: he doesn't want to rush. it's only half past eight and they have to check out around midday, having until four pm to confirm louis and zayn at uni. even though they are taking different courses - zayn's english, louis' drama - they are at the same university, probably same dorm, which helps a lot. saves a bit of time they don't have.

(it's funny, how harry already misses them.)

even though they didn't even spend a day there, some of their clothes are already thrown around, a mess of black jeans and band t shirts, a bottle of hair dye (from niall) and a box with removable piercings (from liam, who still hasn't made up his mind about making them permanent). to keep his anxiety at bay, harry tides everything up, and than goes to his and louis room to do the same, leaving a note to the boys beside the alarm clock.

when he gets there, the memories of the night before slap him in the face.

it's there; in the faint smell of sex, on their clothes on the floor, on the half open bottle of lube on the nightstand. harry chokes a bit, eyes watering up, and it's so unfair. he just wants -

he just wants louis, that's it.

he wants to wake up next to him everyday and he wants to make stupid music with him, wants their vocals mixed together and wants to write corny lyrics with him - wants to keep playing gigs in dark pubs and wants to record a real album in studios, he just wants to -

he just wants too much.

time passes, and slowly, the boys wake up; since harry had a bit of a head start from getting up earlier than them, there's hot coffee that he bought at the store right by the corner of the street, the rich smell of caffeine and cream lulling them out of the bed. he changes his clothes again while they all drink, though, because it was raining and he went out without an umbrella.

"you are so dumb sometimes, curly," louis says when he notices he's a bit wet. "might catch a cold this way. come here, let me dry your hair."

and he dries harry's hair, the boy sitting on the bed, letting himself be all sorts of soft and pliant, louis' fingers gently massaging harry's scalp with the hotel's towel. that takes a bit of time, and when they are finished the other three have already loaded everything into the van, letting them have that last moment alone - like a private unspoken goodbye.

liam drives and zayn is shotgun. the way to the university is silent, with niall's infinite chatter missing, just the silent noise of the rain hitting the windows and splashing beneath the car tires. all the colors of the city seem to be washed out by the water, shades of gray everywhere, the sun hiding behind the heavy clouds. it's still summer, however, and the weather seems to settle in this humid warm thing, kind of stuffy hot if you want to be really specific.

(that doesn't stop harry from holding louis’ hand.)

they get on campus and liam parks, tension high in their bones despite the calm surface everybody seems to have. louis goes to the reception with zayn and they both breathe with relief after they find out their request to room together was approved, and then they go back to the van, take their bags out with the help of the boys and go settle in. there’s not really much they took with them in the first place - it takes only one trip, the five boys with a couple of boxes each. the room is dusty, there are these horrible, floral blue curtains, and the carpet is bright turquoise, but there's plenty of space.

but the problem is: with everything settled down, the world turns silent. it presses into all of their ribcages, like broken glass.

niall is sitting in one of the beds and zayn is at the floor, head low and arms hugging his knees, elbows pinching louis sides, who's holding harry's hand. liam is the only one standing and on the door, one of his feet outside and the other inside, like his body doesn't want to leave but his mind is already setting everything into motion.

"this is it, isn't it?" niall whispers, voice restrained. all of their heads look at him. "the end."

"for god’s sake, niall, don't be so fucking dramatic." louis scoffs. for a moment, harry thinks he may sound kind of choked, but - no. louis doesn't cry. "it's just the end of the band. we will - we will keep in contact, for fuck’s sake. and i don't only mean me and harry. i mean all of us, ok?" he looks around, eyes threatening. niall nods. "now come give me the best hug you've ever given. "

they both meet halfway, and before they can part, there's zayn there, and then harry and liam. it's a mess - but with them, it’s always a mess, always too warm and too many limbs, feelings all over.

(but it's their mess. and it's alright.)

"it's been a hell of a ride, boys."

"i'm gonna miss you."

"liam, stop touching my butt."

"i love y'all."

"that wasn't me!"

"sorry, sorry."

they untangle.

"don't forget to write and text and skype, yeah? don't ignore us, even if you get lazy," liam says, a bit of his insecure persona shining through, voice soft. niall is already at the door - jiggling the car keys on his fingers - and harry and louis are in their own bubble, hand in hand by their sides. it doesn't come as a complete surprise when zayn bolts and engulfs liam into a crushing bear hug.

"we couldn't forget you even if we tried, li." and it's probably meant only for liam, zayn's whisper sounding awfully like a confession. the other boys pretend they aren't there, pretend they aren't seeing zayn's fingers grazing the nape of liam's neck. their arms are holding each other so tightly that it's a wonder they haven't figured out they are meant to be something a little bit more than platonic.

the sun streams through the bedroom windows, painting everything into soft blazing colors; liam and zayn let go while harry kisses louis hard, a halo of light right behind them, both of their eyes wide open. desperation pours out of every fiber of their beings, and there's a word being said by the grip of their fingers on each other's skin, over and over.

goodbye.

 

♦ ♦ ♦

a few hours later, louis turns his forgotten phone on again; zayn's is lost among the boxes, but they still need to contact their parents, report that they made into the dorm safely. startled, he realizes that there's thirteen missed calls - two from an unknown number, eleven from his mother.

his phone rings again.

"louis, lou! finally!" her voice is frantic, like she's nervous about something. he doesn't even have a second to ask what's happening, if the girls are alright, why is she squealing. his mother continues before he has a chance. "there's this guy who called the house, and he said he wants to talk to you urgently but couldn't get a hold of you or any of the boys - something about having only harry's address and your phone number. anyway, he said - he said he's from a company called syco?" she finally pauses. louis freezes. "honey?"

"what did he want to talk about, mum?"

"i think he mentioned a demo?"

"fuck." louis drops the phone, hands shaking. zayn asks him what is wrong - over and over, until he sounds like one of harry's broken records. when he finally explains - and calms zayn the fuck out, because he's just as restless as him when he mentions the demo - they call back syco.

it's good news.

(louis chest collapses).

**  
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**Author's Note:**

> thanks again to infinitelymint and pastelhalo who made magic here. hazzalouis, i hope you enjoyed everything, and i know you asked for something with a happy ending - so i really hope you get what/why i did the ending the way it is? anyways, thank you so much for anyone who read this. i've never written this much, specially in another language =)
> 
> if you would be lovely to leave a comment about this story, to critique or to just say what you thought, it would make my heart melt with warmness. thank you ♡
> 
> edit// now that the authors are revealed, i just wanted to say that you can give me a hi on tumblr on whenthenightchanges!! it's my one direction blog =)


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